The Outsiders
And so, keeping my head high, I walked away. 'Chapter One - Leslie' For the rest of Faolcairn, it was an ordinary Friday afternoon. Children, still dressed in their large school jumpers and shiny shoes, shed their ties and began to unbutton their shirts as they piled onto buses or traipsed down the pavement in the direction of their houses. Adults were thinking about starting to prepare the dinner or finishing the last of their work before gathering their belongings and attempting to make it home before rush-hour. Leslie Corren tried to picture these people, these ordinary people, from her place on the ground beneath the sycamore tree. The small, slight girl lay on her back, half hidden in the jungle of waist-length grass. Her unruly tangle of golden ringlets were spread out like a cushion behind her head, her delicate lids were closed tightly over her dark blue eyes and just the hint of a smile played with the corners of her rosy lips. After many hours spent outside in this peaceful hollow, she had found that if she let herself drift away, she could catch a glimpse of the rooves of the identical houses that lined either side of a damp, grey street; see into the gardens that were full to bursting with flowers or clustered with sandpits and climbing frames. Occasionally, if she was able to search hard enough, she could even see into the lives of the normal, average people that lived in these houses and sat in these gardens; she could imagine for a few minutes what it would be like to have no worries; to have who should I sit beside on the bus? or what should I wear tomorrow? as the only questions clouding her mind. Then reality would tumble down on top of her at the sound of a door slamming or the creaking of one of the branches overhead. This time, it was Mr Henderson's voice that dragged her back to the present; "Les?" his hand found her shoulder and gently shook it. "Leslie? Wake up!" Leslie peeled her eyes open. Grey clouds were gathering in the otherwise clear sky, threatening to swallow the sun in their dark folds. The cool wind whispered through Adelaire's bare grounds, shifting the bricks of the crumbling stone wall and stirring the debris that lay scattered on the ground. Long grass tickled her bare arms as she pulled myself up into a sitting position. Mr Henderson's face was a couple of inches away from her own. His pale skin was dented with premature wrinkles, his blonde hair streaked with white and his young green eyes had been long ago stripped of their innocence. "I wasn't sleeping," Leslie replied. "Good," Mr Henderson said, taking her arm and helping her to her feet. "You have to come with me! And hurry - we can't get caught out here!" "But why?" Leslie protested. "You said I could have 'till five today!" "Mrs Yule wants you in her office! Now!" "How come she wants me? I haven't done anything wrong!" when Leslie saw the look that Mr Henderson was giving her, she quickly countered herself, "Well, nothing that she could ever find out about." "She said that she'd recieved a letter for you. That was it." "A letter? From who? I've never even met anybody from outside Adelaire." Mr Henderson shrugged. He was already running, sprinting at full speed through the undergrowth. With her arm tightly linked with his, Leslie allowed him to pull her along with him. Stumbling over tree roots and tugging her jeans free of bramble bushes, they fled the forest. She could hear her heart beating in time with the thump of her trainers hitting the hard ground; could feel her lungs burning white hot pain as she pushed herself onwards; see nothing but the seemingly endless road that led up to Adelaire. A stitch throbbed in her side and she wanted nothing more than to flop down onto the cool grass that grew on either side of the track. "Just a little further," Mr Henderson promised, pulling her against his side as he quickened his pace. Across the close-cut lawn, through the wooden double doors, up the winding staircase and then finally they had arrived. After a moment in which he took to catch his breath, Mr Henderson entered the office, Leslie hot on his heels. The room was smaller than she had expected. Humid air wreathed around her as she stepped through the doorway, and the smell of decay hit her nostrils. "Sorry about the delay, Mrs Yule," Mr Henderson apologised. "Corren was hiding down in the cellar - it took me ages to find her." He and Leslie exchanged a knowing look. "Do not waste anymore of my time with your poor excuses, Henderson," came the reply. "And in the future, wait to be invited before you barge into my office. You may leave." Mr Henderson winked at Leslie on his way past, closing the door behind him. "Sit down, Miss Corren," the voice drifted out from behind a large stack of paper. Leslie did as she was told, perching herself on the very edge of the hard wood opposite the founder's desk. "Mrs Yule," she began after a long while of silence. She made sure to sit up straight and not to slouch. After all, she thought bitterly, Adelaire had taken me in purely out of the kindness of their hearts. The least that I can do is to treat everybody here with the utmost respect. "Mrs Yule," Leslie continued. "I was just wondering if you could tell me why I'm here? Mr Henderson told me you'd recieved a letter for me." It was a known fact that if ever anybody did anything even slightly imperfect, they would be sent up to the founder's office and would often never return. Thinking back, Leslie couldn't remember anything that she had done wrong; she had taken extra care when sneaking out into the forest, she hadn't stolen any food or had any fights with the other children. She had even made her bed. Mrs Yule chuckled softly, pushing the pile of parchment to the side so that Leslie was able to see her face. She was an elderly woman with long white hair that fell down her back. Although she may have been pretty at one point, her looks had sunk into the folds of her deep wrinkle. All that remained of her earlier beauty was her blue eyes; pale, sparkling and icily cold. "Don't fret, Miss Corren," she assured Leslie. Her smile was yellow and sickeningly sweet. "This meeting is not about your behaviour." Leslie held her gaze ", despite the fact that her mind was clouded with confusion. The only other reason that a child was sent to the founder's office was if- Leslie quickly shook the thought out of her head, extinguishing the tiny ember of hope that had flickered to life inside the pit of her stomach. It wasn't possible. "What I have here with me is, to you, both bad news and good news," Mrs Yule went on. She paused while I waited expectantly. "The good news is that you have been accepted into a school of witchcraft and wizardry." Leslie felt my heart skip a beat. She, of all people, had been accepted into magical school? Her astonishment was apparently crystal clear on her face, as Mrs Yule carried on without hesitation. "Although you will be given the opportunity to learn the ways of a sorcerer, this school is truly the lowest of the low. Elvindor Academy of Magic allows any old riff-raff to enter through its doors." Leslie couldn't help but notice Mrs Yule's patronizing tone of voice and the disapproving glint in her eyes. She considered her as any old riff-raff. "I trust you want to attend this school?" Mrs Yule's voice dragged her back to reality. Leslie nodded instantly. "Yes, of course I do," she agreed. "Excellent," Mrs Yule announced. "All of the books and equipment that you require has already been owled to me. The only other essential that you shall need is a wand." The founder of Adelaire rose from her chair and walked steadily over to Leslie's side. "Stand up, girl." Leslie looked up in surprise, a single word slipping from her mouth before I could stop it, "Why?" "The wandmaker that I have spoken to insists that you be there in person," Mrs Yule replied, glaring. "Apparently, the wand has to choose the wizard. All a load of codswallop in my opinion. Nevertheless, we must see to his wishes." Still bewildered, Leslie struggled to her feet to stand by the older lady's side. "Take my hand." Leslie jerked my head up, startled. Why would Mrs Yule want her tainted hands touching her pure-blooded perfection? "Excuse me?" Leslie asked incredulously. "Take my hand," Mrs Yule repeated. Hesitantly, Leslie reached out for her wrist. As soon as her fingers touched her bare skin, knowledge seemed to rush through her. Suddenly, the concept of holding Mrs Yule's hand didn't seem quite so strange. "Are we going to-" Everything darkened, so much so that all Leslie could see was deep, heavy black, swirling all around her. She was falling, though in which direction, she could not be sure. All she knew was that there was no longer ground beneath her feet and her chest was tightening as all of the air left her body. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think and whatever she was falling through was becoming increasingly smaller, squishing and squeezing me down, up or to the end of where ever she was going. It felt as though there were heavy weights pushing against her head and at any moment, her skull would shatter. Then she was on the ground. Grass, still wet wish morning dew, pressed against her cheek and the sounds of footsteps and speaking came from nearby. Disorientated, Leslie sat up to find herself on a patch of lawn on the corner of a pavement. Witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes were bustling along around her, all carrying bags full of carious different purchased items. "Did I-" "Just perform Side-Along Apparition?" Mrs Yule cut across Leslie. "Yes. Now get up, girl. We are rather short on time." 'Chapter Two - Alfred' On the morning of the 31st of August, Alfred James McDonnell stood dressed up his best clothes. His crisp white shirt was tucked into his freshly ironed trousers and his shoes had been polished so thoroughly that he could almost see his own reflection in them. If his aunt had her way, his hair would have been cut short short and neatly smoothed back against his head. However, Alfie had protested so much that she had given in and allowed him to keep it as it was; shoulder-length, messy, dark curls sticking out in all directions. "Don't want yer dad ter think we haven't been lookin' after you," Aunt Lizzie had said as she had adjusted his tie. Looking up at Lizzie now - at her pale freckled face, her wide blue eyes and her mane of ginger waves - he didn't know how anybody could ever think that she mistreated him. She looked after him as if he were her own son and she was the closest he had ever known to a mother. When he had been sent to go and live with her, she had greeted him with open arms. Lizzie had cooked him dinner every night, nursed him when he was ill and waited in the living room with a cup of tea and sympathetic ears when he was having trouble at school. Angus, Alfie's uncle, had been just as welcoming. He had immediately tried to make a point of spending time with him - presumably, Alfie guessed, to try to take both of their minds off of what had happened. On the weekends, he would take him out shooting, camping and to do various other manly activities, until he realised that his nephew would much rather spend his Sunday evening curled up in front of the fire with a good book. Although he had appreciated these weekly bonding trips, Alfie would be lying if he said that he wasn't relieved when his uncle Angus stopped them and introduced him to the local library instead. "We'll leave you to it then, Alfred," Lizzie told him, patting his arm gently and then shuffling over to her husband. "Remember, we'll just be in the café if you need us." Alfie nodded in reply. Lizzie gave him a final small smile before disappearing down the corridor with Angus. "See you later, midget," Rory ruffled his hair fondly. At first, there had been a few uncertainties as to whether or not the two of them would get on. The cousins were each other's opposites. Rory McDonnell, Head Boy at school, was confident, popular, sporty and funny. As the awkward, bookish misfit who was bullied for wearing glasses and for being hopeless at football, Alfie slid under none of these above categories. Therefore, their unlikely friendship had taken everybody by surprise. "I'm not that small," Alfie protested half-heartedly, ducking away from the older boy's hand. Rory gave a bark of laughter, gave his shoulder a quick squeeze for good luck and took off in the direction of the café. Alfie was left all alone. Heart thumping in his chest, hands shaking with nervousness, he suddenly felt sick to the stomach as he peered through the door into Room 147. For a moment, he was torn between the idea of going inside and the idea of running away to hide inside a storage cupboard until it was time to drive home again. Then his eyes rested on the man sitting on the chair beside the window and he knew what to do. Sunlight slanted in through the half open blinds, making the man's greying hair gleam. Propped up against a pillow, book in hand and reading glasses ready to slip off of the end of his nose, for a split second, he looked almost normal. In a rush, Alfie couldn't help but be brought back to his younger years when this man had told him tales of magic and folklore every night before bed. He could see the man's face barely visible in the dim glow of the lamp, dark brown eyes sparkling with excitement; he could smell the mixture of coffee and cologne on the man's shirt; hear the man's enthusiasm as he talked about the magical creatures that he had found in his adventures and hear the pure adoration in his voice as he described Alfie's mother. Most of all, Alfie could remember thinking about the secret woodland elves who he had been told existed in the deepest, darkest shadows of the forests in Ireland long after the man had left. These memories were soon lost in the man's empty eyes, in the hospital gown that showed his bony arms and in the drab blue hundred and forty seventh room of ... Hospital. "Son," Patrick McDonnell smiled weakly as Alfie came to stand beside him. "Dad," the word felt strange coming from his mouth after so long. At his aunt and uncle's house, it had almost been an unspoken rule not to mention anything about Alfie's father. The two of them fell into an awkward silence. 'Chapter Three - Christopher' 'Chapter Four - Leslie' Mr Henderson stood by the main entrance. His purple shirt, emblazoned with the Adelaire Institute logo, was badly creased. One black trouser leg was tucked into his sock and the laces of his battered shoes trailed along the ground. Light brown hair stuck out from the back of his head in tufts and sleep blurred his green eyes. As milky dawn light poured in through the window behind him and the chattering of the early rising birds driften in from outside, he opened his mouth in a wide yawn. If he were to have it his way, nobody would get up before ten o'clock in the morning. It would be considered madness. "Why are you here?" the accusing voice sliced through his hazy thoughts. "It's not your shift!" Mr Henderson broke into a wide grin when he caught sight of the approaching girl. Her golden hair as wild and untamed as ever, Leslie Corren's face was alight with excitement. She was wrapped up in a red raincoat that was at least two sizes too big and trailing a large brown suitcase. He was suddenly brought back to the first time that he had caught a glimpse of Leslie. It had been his second day working at Adelaire and he had just stepped through the orphanage doors. She had been sitting in the corner, waiting patiently. Nine. She had been nine when they had met. He was only seventeen. "Your new, aren't you?" Leslie asked him in that same assertive manner. ''"Yeah," he replied, giving the small girl a smile. "I'm Mr Henderson. What's your name?" ''"Leslie Corren," she answered instantly. She paused, staring up at him with her wide blue eyes. "I hope you know what your walking into, coming to work here." ''"What?" ''"Adelaire is horrible. All we get to do is sit around this boring old building and get fed liver and onions." ''"That doesn't sound too bad." ''"You're not allowed to say that before you've had your first Assessment. The man your replacing left before he'd finished his second week." ''"What about all the other staff?" ''"They either feel too sorry for us to go or they really need the money. ''"Well, unfortunately for you, I really need the money. I'm no going to be leaving any time soon." ''"Can I go outside?" ''"Excuse me?" ''"Will you open the door so I can go outside?" ''"Of course not! I'm not allowed to let any of you kids outside under any circumstances!" ''"Okay then," Leslie shrugged. Getting up off of the floor, she skipped out of the room and left Mr Henderson gawping after her in amazement. "I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye so I asked Mitchell if I could take his turn at the door," Mr Henderson explained, dragging himself back into reality. "He didn't complain." Leslie stopped beside him and he pulled her into a hug. His strong arms wrapped around her protectively, squeezing her against his warm body. Leslie, with her ear resting against his chest, could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat as she breathed in his familiar scent. "I have to go now," she whispered, a little reluctantly. Mr Henderson gave a slight nod before releasing her from his grasp. "I hate to say this, but I'm really going to miss you around here, Les," he told her. The smile returned to his face as he reached out to ruffle her hair. "Now get out of here before your carriage leaves without you!" Leslie gave a peal of laughter, picking up her suitcase again and opening the door. "Goodbye, Mr Henderson!" she shouted as she leaped down the front steps. "Have fun sweeping floors!" "Bye, Les!" Mr Henderson called after her. Even though he knew that she was now too far away to hear him, he still added, "Good luck!" Only once Leslie had disappeared around a corner did Mr Henderson close the door behind her. It seemed as if, in the mere seconds that she had been gone, a silence had fallen over the room, over the entire building. Adelaire will be very different now, he thought to himself as he settled down on the floor beneath the window. As no sane person would wake until at least eight o'clock, he figured he would get away with napping until his shift was over. Meanwhile, Leslie Corren stood at the end of the driveway that led up to Adelaire Institute. A carriage, one that looked like it had been torn from the page of a storybook, slowed to a halt in front of her. There was no driver, just two black horses with well defined muscles rippled beneath their identical black coats. Seeing the Elvindor Academy crest painted onto the door, Leslie pulled it open, heaved her suitcase inside and clambered in after it. The second that she had seated herself on the deep red cushion that lay on top of the bench, the horses took off, dragging the carriage smoothly along after them. For the first few miles, the carriage followed the same tarmac road. It wove like a river through the countryside, flowing through forests of towering pine and splashing over heather covered hills. Past fields of grazing cows, flocks of munching sheep and the distant outlines of red deer. Leslie stared out of the window, transfixed, when the carriage took her through a small town. It was exactly like the one that she had imagined. A square with a lawn and fountain in the center. Lines of houses, their gardens clustered with flowers, children's play equipment, greenhouses and sheds. A school. Shops. Restaurants and cafés. Leslie's nose was almost pressed against the pane of glass as she gazed out in wonder, taking in everything from the people that walked the streets to the noise that filled the air. A million different shades of bright colours sung out at her. The smell of vehicle exhausts, fast food, and coffee made her nose wrinkle. Her head was spinning, eyes not quite sure what to look at, but she couldn't help but smile. Then they turned a corner and left everything behind.Time seemed to get lost in amongst the long grass that lined either side of the dirt track. The outside world once again became a hazy blur of greens, blues and browns. Leslie sat back in her seat, immersed in her own thoughts. She tried to picture Elvindor Academy, her teachers, her new friends. A grand building appeared in her mind. It almost looked like a castle with its tall towers, crenellated roof and big arched doorway. Sat at the top of a desolate hill, such an impressive structure looked quite out of place. Then she could picture a lady dressed in pale blue robes, black hair falling down her back in silky ringlets. She was standing at the front of a room filled with people, her mouth moving, but no sounds coming out. Finally came the clearest image of all. The freckled face of a young boy. His emerald green eyes sparkled behind the lenses of his glasses and a shy smile turned up the corners of his lips - The carriage ground to a halt and the door swung open. The two horses horses stood solemn, silent and stationary. Uncertainly, Leslie collected her suitcase and stepped out onto the hard packed mud ground. She looked up to see that she was facing a steep slope that led to the base of a mountain range. The gigantic rock formations reached high up into the cloudless blue sky, their peaks snow-capped even now, on the last day of August. There was not a dwelling to be seen on the barren landscape in front of her and whoever was supposed to be meeting her was definitely not there. Leslie turned and made to get back into the carriage, only to see the two black horses take off in the direction that they had come from. "Great," she didn't realize that she was speaking aloud until the words escaped her mouth. "Just fantastic." Her voice echoed around the hollow that she was sitting it. Somewhere nearby, a startled bird cawed, abandoning its perch. Leslie watched enviously as it took flight, soaring over the hills until it was no more than a mere brown speck in the distance. It was lucky. It could escape. "Sorry to keep you waiting." Surprised, Leslie spun around. Through the long stems of green grass to her right, a man appeared. He was tall and young. Despite his greying brown hair and the wrinkles that creased the corners of his grey-blue eyes, he looked to be in his early twenties. He was wearing a new black cloak without a hint of a crease or stain on it, but, as Leslie peered more closely at him, she realised that he had put it on to hide his other clothes. Underneath, he had on a tattered, pale shirt and light brown trousers that had been torn and patched in many places. His shoes, that may have once been smart and black, had been worn so much that they looked grey-ish brown colour and were practically falling apart "I got a little lost on my way here," the man held out his hand. Hesitantly, Leslie took it. His grip was firm but gentle, his skin rough but warm. "I'm Professor Lupin. I'll be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts." “I’m Leslie,” she told Professor Lupin. “Leslie Corren.” “I guessed,” was his only reply. 'Chapter Five - Alfred' On the 31st of August, a carriage came to collect the only McDonnell child. That was how Alfie came to board the Elvindor Funicular Express. His hands were shaking with both nervousness and excitement as he sat down on the first empty seat that he saw. He had always been a bit of an outcast at his old school. Maybe now that would all change. Maybe he he had finally found a place where he fit in, where he could have friends. Maybe, just maybe, he had discovered the place where he belonged. "Oi, you, freckle-face!" It took Alfie a moment to realise that all of the other boys in his compartment had stopped speaking and were now all looking in his direction. "Me?" he asked uncertainly. The boy sitting opposite him stood up. He had a shaved head, piercing blue eyes and looked to be about a year or two older. "Yeah you, four-eyes," he sneered. "What d'you think you're doing here?" Alfie blinked and did not reply. "Are you pureblood?" He shook his head. "Halfblood?" "No." "Get out," the boy ordered. "Mudbloods aren't allowed to sit with us." Alfie hastily gathered his belongings and made to leave. He didn't like arguing, especially with people who were twice his size and were all glaring down at him with great dislike. On his way out of the door, the lanky blonde on Alfie's right stuck his leg out to trip him. The compartment erupted with laughter as fell out into the aisle, his glasses sliding from the end of his nose as he landed in a tangle of limbs on top of his suitcase. With a groan, Alfie pulled himself up onto his knees and searched the floor for his spectacles. He could already guess what would happen next; one of the boys would come out and take them away from him. He would stumble blindly after the boy and would be led into the middle of a circle of the boy's cronies. They would poke fun at him until one of them snapped the leg off his glasses and he would have to o around wearing spectacles that were held together with Sellotape because his aunt and uncle felt that there was no point buying him new ones if he was just going to break them. He would become the joke of the school. Soon he would be too scared to walk to his classes alone for fear of getting a black eye. Eventually, he would be lying to his teachers about why he had gone to school without us schoolbag, how he had ended up with bruises down his arm or why he hadn't been able to catch the bus home. If he told anybody about the bullying, everything would just get so much worse. "You okay?" He looked up to see the blurry outline of a boy of about the age of sixteen. He was tall with short black hair and stubble that ran across his strong jaw. His broad shoulders and muscular arms gave Alfie the impression that he was a rugby player. If Alfie squinted, he could just make out the boy's expression. Dark eyes narrowed in concern, wide mouth set in a worried frown. He was holding something out in front of her. Alfie's glasses. "Thanks," Alfie mumbled, taking them from him gratefully. He pulled himself up, brushed the dirt from his trousers and collected his luggage. "Don't worry about it," the boy smiled. His face grew serious again as he nodded to the compartment that Alfie had just come from. "Listen, I'm a Broadstone Prefct. Are those kids giving you trouble?" Alfie hesitated. "It's fine. I just tripped, that's all." The Prefect looked doubtful. "Really?" he pressed. "Because I wouldn't put it past Nott and his gang to be a bit... unwelcoming." "It's fine," Alfie repeated, unable to lift his gaze from the floor. "If you're sure," the Prefect shrugged. He glanced briefly down at his watch. "Come on, let's get you a seat." Alfie hesitated, but the Prefect took hold of his suitcase and disappeared into the next carriage. Trailing behind, Alfie kept his head down and hoped to be led to an empty compartment. He didn't feel like speaking after what had just happened. He would rather go through the year alone than have to put up with constant teasing and taunting. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side. Alfie found himself standing beside the Prefect, staring into a room occupied by two children of around his own age. The boy was tall and slim. He had short black hair and brown eyes that sat underneath his thick brows. He looked like one of the boys who would come first in every single race on Sport's Day and then smirk as Alfie came in last. Sitting opposite him was a girl with sparkling blue eyes. Her light brown hair had been tied out of her face into two messy plaits She appeared to be wearing a strange mix-match of clothing - a large red raincoat, jeans that only just covered her knees and black trainers. A chestboard sat between the two of them, held up by a suitcase. The girl swept the pieces to the side as the door slid open and looked up at Alfie and the Prefect. Alfie suddenly forgot how to speak. He shifted anxiously from side to side, not knowing quite what to do until the Prefect gave him an encouraging nudge and then disappeared to return to his duties. "Umm... H-hi," Alfie stammered. Panic flared in his chest as he looked from the girl to the boy and tried to remember how to make words come from his mouth. To introduce himself, to ask to join them - hell, even to announce that he was madly in love with a centaur would be better than standing in the middle of the compartment, his face glowing red and his mouth opening and closing helplessly. Thankfully, the girl realised that he was moments away from bursting into tears and so quickly held out her hand. He shook it gratefully. "I'm Leslie Corren," she offered. "What's your name?" "Alfie McDonnell," he replied instantly. "N-nice to meet you." Alfie suddenly remembered about the boy who was sitting opposite Leslie and quickly added, "Er... Both of you. It's, um, nice to meet both of you." The boy gave a bark of laughter, clearly finding Alfie's awkwardness highly amusing. "My name's Christopher," he announced. "But my friend's just call me, Chris." Alfie nodded, not quite sure how to respond. He placed his suitcase on the ground, but stayed standing. Now that he had spoken, he didn't know what to do. Was he expected to ask if he could spend the rest of the journey with these children? Or had he already done that by telling them his name? Before he could work himself up into another fluster, Leslie patted the empty space on her bench. "Well?" she demanded, looking at him expectantly. Although the question came out loud and scathing, she was smiling warmly at him as if she were telling a joke. "Sit down then!" Alfie gratefully settled down beside her and breathed a sigh of relief. He was on his way to Elvindor Academy and he now had nice people to sit beside. However, conversation between the three of them had come to an abrupt halt. As each second ticked by, he found that the silence became a more and more awkward. Trying to calm himself, he began to polish his glasses on the hem of his jumper as he wracked his brain for something to talk about. Fortunately, Christopher spoke up before he could say something embarrassing. "I'm pure-blood. My dad's a wizard and my mum's a witch. What about you two?" "I dunno what I am," Leslie was the first to reply. "How can you not know?" Christopher asked incredulously. Leslie shrugged, "I've never met my parents. Not that I can remember anyway. Death Eaters burned my house down when I was a baby." "Sorry! It must be so hard for you!" "S'all I've ever known," Leslie told him. She turned to Alfie. "How about you?" Alfie hesitated and his hand absentmindedly jumped to his hair. He pulled a few strands especially curly strands, making sure they were covering his ears. "I'm muggle-born. K-kind of." Christopher raised his eyebrow. "Kind of?" "Well, my dad's a muggle," Alfie said. "And my mum wasn't a witch." "So you are muggle-born." "It's more complicated than that. My mum could do magic. She just wasn't a witch." "Your mum's a wizard?" Christopher grinned. Alfie ignored him. "Why d'you keep saying your mum wasn't a witch?" Leslie asked suddenly. "Because she's dead," Alfie said quietly. 'Chapter Six - Christopher' The castle stood proud on the topmost peak of a desolate mountain. Tall, dark and foreboding; its cold, grey walls jutted from the ground like great hunks of man-made cliff. Mist was clinging to the tower turrets like thick white clouds, hiding them from view, and yellow light from the narrow slits that served as windows sliced through the gloomy night and brightened the path through for the approaching students. "This is amazing," Leslie whispered breathlessly. Cheeks flushed and face ablaze with awe, her breath billowed out in clouds as she gazed up at the grand building in wonder. Alfie was shivering too much to reply. He hadn't bothered to take his cloak from his suitcase that he had been told to leave on the train. Stuffing his pockets further into the pockets of his further into the pockets of his robes, he nodded to Leslie to show that he agreed. Out of the corner of his eyes, Alfie saw Christopher shrug. The dark-haired boy opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could come out, a loud voice cut through the noise emitted from the crowds of chattering children. "First years! First years, make your way over to the Astronomy tower!" Turning around, Alfie saw the Prefect who had helped him on the train leaning against the tower on the right-hand side to the gatehouse. He was holding his wand to his throat - Alfie guessed that he was probably using the Sonorous charm to magnify his voice - and was flanked by two other students of around his own age, both with shiny Prefect badges pinned to their jumpers. Leslie linked arms with Alfie and Christopher and began to drag the two boys after her into the swarms of students. Eyes locked on her destination, she forced her way through the shamble of bodies, not caring who she shoved into. Alfie tried to break free of her grip and make his own way over to where the rest of his year was gathering, but this only resulted in falling onto a particularly scary looking piercing covered girl. His apologies were lost in the crowds as Leslie hauled him back to his feet and past the last couple of older students to the three Prefects. "Clearwater, Neil!" Alfie's Prefect was shouting. A plump boy with a shock of white-blonde hair quickly made his way over to stand behind the person who had said his name. "Corren, Leslie!" was yelled next. Alfie watched Leslie leave his side with a strange reluctance. Her light brown curls bounced as she rushed to join Neil Clearwater's side and when she saw that he was still watching her, she grinned and threw him a wink. Hoping that nobody would notice, hid his hands within the folds of his robes and crossed his fingers. In the other two groups of first years, he could spot the boy who had tripped him on the train and another who had pointed and laughed at him as he had fallen. Although he could see a few nasty looking people in his Prefect's assemblage, at least he would have Leslie. Fortunately, after a moment, his Prefect called, "McDonnell, Alfred!" "McDonnell, Alfred!" "Murphy, Paige!" "Powell, Christopher!" "Ross, Evan!" "Snow, Kara!" "Williamson, Iris!" ---- Made on the-dark-arts; unfortunately, I don't think it uploaded where it should have... Category:Fan Fic Series Category:SmudgyHollz's Fanfictions